


Oh my gourd who let Alpine in

by spaceluna



Category: Marvel
Genre: Deaf Clint Barton, Jack-o'-lanterns, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Sign Language, Slice of Life, Sort Of, Trans Character, Trans Clint Barton, cats are assholes and we love them for it, halloween themed, i guess, this is self indulgent and i dont care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 07:13:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21249479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceluna/pseuds/spaceluna
Summary: Clint has plans for halloween, but then Alpine happens





	Oh my gourd who let Alpine in

**Author's Note:**

> it's ya girl back at it again with the happy wacky stories, please enjoy this absolute mess of a fic 
> 
> written for Clint Barton Bingo - Trans! Clint  
also written for Winterhawk Bingo - Alpine the cat  
also also written for Winterhawk Bingo holiday prompts - Halloween / jack-o-lanterns

“Damn it, Alpine, that’s not yours!” Clint exclaims as he sees a white blur dragging black cloth shoot past his feet, almost tripping him up. “How did your walking hairball get in here?” he yells in the direction of his bedroom. The furry creature had caught him by surprise, which is the only reason he’s being so loud. He gives Bucky a few seconds to respond, but when everything stays quiet he gets up to check. The space is a mess, clothes mixed with weapons of various shapes and sizes covering every available surface, and a mug of cold coffee on the bedside table. 

There’s a misshapen heap of blankets in the middle of the bed, which Clint assumes is his grump of a boyfriend. He steps on the mattress and hesitantly pokes a toe at the purple covers. There’s no visible response, so Clint drops down on his knees before full body flopping on top of the unmoving lump. That gets him a loud, unhappy groan, and a grin spreads on his face.

“Babe, come on, I thought you were the morning person in this relationship.” Clint says in a teasing voice. To be fair, neither of them are all that functional before 10 a.m. but Bucky always seems to be far better at pretending that he’s getting work done. Him still being in bed when it’s well past noon can’t really be a good sign. 

Clint wonders if it has anything to do with the fact that Halloween is coming up.

They had plans to go out to a pumpkin field and carve some jack-o-lanterns to hide around the tower, but Clint is now doubting if they’re going to be able to leave the tower at all. 

Carefully neutral he asks; “So, what time were we planning on going to the farm?”

Nothing.

“I mean, it’s not like the pumpkins are gonna run away if we’re not there to get them, but all the nice big ones might have been taken and I can’t beat Nat’s design if I have to make mine on a lumpy squash.”

A muffled grunt is the only response he gets.

It’s better than the quiet, Clint thinks, but it’s still just as unhelpful. He finds the edge of the covers and gently peels them back until he finds a head of messy brown hair and grey-blue eyes blinking up at him blearily. 

“Morning,” Clint says softly.

“Hi,” Bucky croaks back, “Is it morning?”

“It’s morning somewhere,” he snorts, “but no, it’s 1:15 in the afternoon.”

That makes his boyfriend frown in confusion. “Weren’t we supposed to leave at, like, 11 though?” He has difficulty rolling over onto his back since Clint is still sprawled on top of him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

“That was the plan,” Clint admits, lifting himself a little so Bucky can face him more easily, “but you came back from that mission so late that I figured you wouldn’t mind sleeping a little longer. Thought you’d wake up before 12 though.”

Bucky chuckles at that, his voice still a little rough from sleep, the sound making Clint’s insides feel all sorts of soft and fuzzy. Two arms emerge from the depths of the blanket nest, one hand wrapping around Clint’s hips, the other coming up to gently trace the shape of his jawline. There’s so much warmth in Bucky’s eyes that Clint finds himself unable to hold his gaze, feeling a little undeserving of such adoration, so he buries his face in the now exposed shoulder.

“And also your cat stole my binder and I’m afraid that she’ll bite me again if I try to take it back.” He blurts out against the warm metal. 

The admission startles a laugh out of his boyfriend, his whole body silently shaking with mirth. 

“Are you seriously scared of Alpine?” 

Clint tries to sit up with an offended expression on his face, but he doesn’t get very far before he feels the grip on his waist tighten. 

“That cat is the devil incarnate, and that’s coming from someone who thinks all animals deserve at least a million chances before you tell them they’re evil.” He says in a haughty voice, glaring down his nose at Bucky. 

“That cat is an asshole and a bully, but only because you tried to feed her pepperoni pizza.” Bucky retorts. 

“How was I to know she only eats the anchovies?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes and doesn’t dignify that with a response. Instead he sits up, moving in such a way that Clint is now straddling his hips instead of falling off the edge of the bed. 

“Let’s just go find some pumpkins at the store instead of driving all the way out to a field.” He murmurs against Clint’s lips. “I know a few things we could do with the time we’d save.” 

Clint feels his cheeks go bright red at the rough edge in Bucky’s voice, but fights to make his answer sound as casual as possible.

“Only if you promise to extract my binder from your white-haired Satan.” 

Bucky grimaces at the thought of having to extract anything from Alpine, because that cat is nothing if not possessive, but he also knows that Clint wouldn’t be asking for his binder if he didn’t really need it. He’s gone out without it often enough, on days where it didn’t feel necessary or whenever he was wearing his new Hawkeye suit. 

When Tony had found out Clint was wearing a binder while fighting off aliens and robots he’d been yelled at loudly and at length, but 3 days after that a redesigned suit had been delivered to his Bed-Stuy apartment, the top part now made of a fabric that was interwoven with nanotech. There hadn’t been an explanation or a note with it, but Clint found out that as soon as he put on the suit it would flatten his chest in the same way a binder would, but less restrictive and more accommodating of his physical exertion. He would later realize that it loosened automatically after he wore the suit for a long time, so that he couldn’t damage his ribs and lungs on long missions.

He loved Tony to pieces for it, but whenever he tried to bring it up he’d be brushed off, the inventor always having some excuse to leave the room or pretending that he didn’t know what Clint was talking about. So now Clint just sends him increasingly weird and random gift baskets to show his appreciation, the latest one consisting of food items that were at least 75% bright purple.

“We could also just stay in bed all day,” Bucky mutters, absentmindedly tracing his hands across Clint’s lower back. The featherlight touches are so distracting that it takes Clint just a beat too long to respond, and judging by the knowing smirk on Bucky’s face that pause hasn’t escaped his attention. The hands start moving more deliberately, one finding its way up under the hem of Clint’s shirt, trailing paths of liquid fire wherever skin meets skin, leaving him lightheaded and wanting more. 

Just as he is about to give in and claim Bucky’s lips with his own there’s a loud banging noise as the door to their shared apartment slams shut.

“If you two are naked again I cannot be held accountable for my actions,” Kate calls out from the living room, “I have been traumatized by your ass too many times already, Hawkeye, I can even show you the permanent scars on my eyes.” 

Clint snorts quietly at the exasperated and slightly offended look on his boyfriend’s face. Bucky leans back a little and signs “That ass is too good to cause trauma,” causing Clint to grin at him before kissing his nose and getting up and out of his lap.

“It’s your own fault for walking in unannounced, Hawkeye,” he replies, not bothering to straighten his shirt or remove any proof of what he’d been planning to do just seconds before from his face. She rolls her eyes at him, then points to the box filled with pumpkins at her feet. 

“I figured since you guys missed the farm trip you didn’t have anything to make your horrible lanterns with, so I stole some from Vision. He doesn’t need them; he can probably 3D print them out of his ass.” She cocks her head, “Does Vision have a butthole?” 

“I seriously do not want to think about that,” Clint says, making a disgusted face at her, “and I really hope you’re not planning on asking him that question.”

Bucky chooses that moment to walk in, shirtless and barefoot, sweatpants riding dangerously low on his hips, effectively derailing Clint’s train of thought. 

“And that’s my cue!” Kate announces loudly, pivoting and marching out the door. “No nasty shit where the pets can hear you or I’m stealing Alpine as well as Lucky next time.” She calls back over her shoulder, but neither Clint nor Bucky pays her any mind, both of them remembering just how long they’ve been apart. 

The moment the door slams shut behind her Bucky is moving, gait predatory, a hungry look on his face. 

The moment the door slams shut behind her Bucky turns his full attention to Clint and oh, he feels like he could die from the heat in his gaze alone. Bucky starts stalking towards him, gait predatory, the hungry look on his face telling Clint exactly what he’s planning on doing once he reaches the archer.

“You don’t even know how amazing you look right now,” Clint signs, finding himself unable to use his voice.

Bucky smirks at that, eyes turning soft for a second. 

“Right back at ya, doll,” he replies, signing doll on Clint’s nose instead of his own. It’s a thing he started doing when he found out that he’d been using the little kid’s sign for his favorite term of endearment instead of the more socially accepted version that actually meant sweetheart. Natasha had been the one to correct him, and when Bucky went to confront Clint about why he’d never said that the sign was wrong Clint had been forced to admit that it reminded him of the way his mother would touch his nose when he was still little, and that seeing Bucky use it always made him feel safe and loved in a way that was probably way too intense to share that early in their relationship. Instead of balking at the confession, Bucky had kissed him softly and taken up the habit of signing doll on his boyfriend instead of on himself. 

He frames Bucky’s face with his hands, brushing their lips together, quietly telling him how much he loves him without using those 3 words that he’s still too scared to say out loud. He starts to pull back, but Bucky surges up and deepens the kiss, grabbing Clint’s hips and pulling him closer until their bodies are pressed flush together. Clint lets himself get lost in the sensations, dragging his hands from the strong muscles in Bucky's shoulders down his back to cup his ass, not even bothering to be subtle about what he wants. Bucky responds in kind, pushing Clint's shirt up, only breaking the kiss to get the fabric over his head before reclaiming his lips, slowly but surely dragging them back into their bedroom.

They end up spending most of the day in bed together, ignoring the outside world in favor of relearning every inch of each other’s skin. When they finally manage to extricate themselves long enough for take out Chinese, they find Alpine curled up in the box filled with pumpkins, having made some sort of nest out of Clint’s binder and the hay that’s used to protect the squashes. Bucky laughs at Clint’s outrage and declares the jack-o-lanterns as a lost cause before snatching the black fabric out from under his cat, who looks at him with utter betrayal. Clint loudly proclaims felines should not have such expressive faces, which earns him a bemused look from his boyfriend and a glare from the furball in question. Clint huffs, faking annoyance when in actuality he doesn’t mind not having to get all kinds of sticky with pumpkin guts. 

He has to give it to Alpine; she might be evil, but she definitely made his life a lot better by sneaking in today.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a slut for feedback please tell me what you thought in the comments!


End file.
